


The Gift

by iberiandoctor (jehane)



Series: A State of Grace [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Javert Survives, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Javert's Flowing Hair, M/M, Post-Seine, Research, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-06 05:56:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11030046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehane/pseuds/iberiandoctor
Summary: The night before his surrender to custody, Valjean considers vows of a more permanent nature.





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [esteven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteven/gifts).



> Happy birthday, esteven! I come bearing a Remission pre-pardon story at your request, featuring research, and flowing hair, and acres of indulgent fluff. I didn’t quite make the ceremony we spoke of -- we’ll need to give Fr. Michel-Marie some time to get sold on the idea, lol -- but then again this may be all the ceremony these old men need...

Valjean was not a man who gave way to his nerves. Still, he had been uneasy all week, and now that the day was finally upon him, he could not help a certain anxiety.

He could scarcely believe that after almost twenty years spent as a fugitive from justice, after more than four decades of his life blighted by justice misapprehended, he would finally receive a measure of mercy. 

It seemed that the King had acceded to pardon Valjean for both the crime of his escape from Toulon as well as for the remainder of his life sentence there. This was conditional upon Valjean's voluntary surrender to the custody of the state; he would spend a day and night behind bars so the pardon papers could be filed on his behalf, and a new trial could be moved before the Court of Assizes of the Seine at which that pardon would be pronounced. 

This new lease on life had been procured for him by the former Inspector Javert, the new Director of the Bureau of Judicial Assistance in the Ministry of Justice. It could not have been achieved without the support of the Minister of Justice as well as Procureur-Général Barthe, Javert's predecessor at the Bureau.

It was nothing short of a miracle. Valjean could not help wondering: what if something went wrong? He could hardly believe that four decades of wrongful justice could be so easily erased. 

He commenced the day as he always did, at the orphanage that he had recently installed at Petit-Picpus. He then went to visit Cosette at No. 6 Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire. His daughter was in the pink of health, the roses in her cheeks testament to the growing child in her belly. After breakfast, they walked in the garden, and spoke of the orphanage, where Cosette hoped to teach, as well as her recent project to collect household items from her neighbours to be distributed to the poor. 

Valjean's heart was full. His daughter had been the light of his days, and this new grandchild-to-be was an unexpected gift. He had endured a good number of cruel blows in the course of his long life, but he would gladly have lived through every moment of suffering over again to earn the privilege of raising Cosette, and of being able to enjoy these years with her as she raised her own child. 

In the afternoon, he returned to the quiet garden of Rue Plumet, to tend to the last of the summer roses, and to await the end of Javert's work day.

Here was another unlooked-for gift, and one which he manifestly did not deserve. Valjean would always thank God for sparing Javert's life, for allowing that dour Inspector this second chance at redemption. Javert had seized that chance to do so much good for so many, not least of all for Valjean himself – and he thanked God for that, too.

At four o'clock, the gate creaked open and the man himself arrived. Satchel under one arm, cane tucked tightly under the other, Javert cut the same tall, imposing figure as he had done when he had been the most fearsome policeman in Paris. These recent years of domesticity had not blunted the leap of spirit that Valjean experienced upon seeing him; it was as fervent as the bolt of terror that he had used to feel when encountering his relentless hunter, albeit much more pleasant.

"You have returned early," Valjean said; his companion usually stayed in the office for another hour at least. 

"Really?" Javert said. He took Valjean's outstretched hand and pressed it absently. "I have some work to do. And we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"We do indeed." Valjean pushed his unease firmly aside and spoke matter-of-factly. "Are you hungry? Toussaint has made some broth and a good stew."

It transpired that Javert was indeed hungry, as he had been too busy for a midday meal. 

"I know what you will say," Javert murmured around a spoonful of stew, when Valjean directed a pointed glance in his direction. "And I might say the same for you, for you would barely eat if either Cosette or I were not there to make sure of it. When your sister was here last month she chastised me for not having more care for you." 

Valjean frowned, but it was not untrue. He resolved, not for the first time, to take better note of such matters. It would not do to cause concern to those who were dear to him. 

"Then I will do better, if only to spare you. Jeanne's tongue seems even sharper than I remember!"

Javert snorted, and returned to his stew. "You have said this before, and I will believe it when I see it with my two eyes."

After the dinner things were cleared and they retired upstairs, Javert took up the sheaf of papers from his satchel. It had been a long summer, and even in the late afternoon there was still enough light to work by for some hours yet.

Valjean performed his ablutions in the bath that Toussaint had drawn before she left. The bathroom was still warm from the remnants of the afternoon sun, and Valjean idly considered asking Javert to join him, but dismissed the idea. The physical love they had come to enjoy, so late in both their lives, was another immeasurable gift, but they were not such infatuated youngsters as would indulge themselves at every possible instance.

When he emerged from his bath, wiping himself dry with a rag, Javert was still at their desk, frowning over his papers. 

Valjean went over and placed a damp hand upon Javert's shoulder. "What are you working on?"

Javert flushed and made an embarrassed movement, as if his first instinct had been to cover his papers with his hand like a schoolboy caught cheating on a test, before he had thought the better of it. "It is nothing," he muttered. "That is to say..."

Valjean looked down at the pages that Javert had left uncovered, filled with Javert's upright, carefully schooled writing. "I did not know your duties involved a study of medieval biblical texts," he remarked.

"They do not," Javert said. The colour had crept to his brow-line. "I have been researching medieval ceremonies celebrated by the Catholic church... for personal reasons."

Valjean was trying to read; it was not easy to do so upside down. Then it struck him. "These... are notes of a fourteenth-century wedding ceremony?"

"Yes." He had never seen Javert look as hesitant. "After the pardon and rehabilitation are complete, and you are truly a free man once again, I thought you might wish to finally exchange vows of the covenant that we had spoken of earlier in the summer."

Valjean felt the same colour that suffused Javert rise in his own cheeks. In fact, he felt hot everywhere. His heart had started to beat rapidly.

"I see. But is there really a need for so much research?" His voice sounded unusually strained to his ears, as if it belonged to a stranger. 

"You would not have thought so." Javert sounded in equal parts fond and embarrassed. He reached up for Valjean's hand. "But there is in fact some writing on the topic. It seems in the days before the Council of Trent, the Church did not require an exchange of vows before a priest to be able to recognise a marriage covenant as legally binding. And aside from that, there have been some references to ceremonies that were in fact conducted in a church -- for instance, there is a record of such a ceremony in 1421 between Messrs Molyneux and Winter at the church of Saint Martin in Harfleur."

Javert seized a piece of paper and presented it to Valjean. Valjean glanced at what seemed to be an extremely detailed note of the said ceremony; Javert’s exacting standards would have demanded rigour in this, as in all things.

Javert continued, "I have been speaking in theoretical terms with Fr. Michel-Marie, who has offered the use of the old library at Saint-Sulpice for my private study. Perhaps, notwithstanding the Council of Trent, he may be persuaded that such a ceremony, grounded in historical precedent and pursuant to canon law, may be licit after all."

"You have indeed become a religious scholar," Valjean said slowly. "Surely all that would be needed is the usual form of words?"

Javert smiled his wry, half-mocking smile. "What, the ones used in the canon ceremony, which your daughter and son-in-law utilised when they were married? _'With this ring, I espouse thee, with my body I worship thee, with all my worldly goods I thee endow'_? Do you seriously think they are fitting for our use?" 

Valjean did not smile in his turn. Those simple words of fidelity, of belonging, made his heart leap up within him, sent a surge of fresh heat through his body, and somehow assumed control of his usually reticent tongue.

"Are those not words any two devoted companions ought to speak to each other? Who share each other's lives, who share a bed, who share all they possess?"

Javert looked somewhat taken aback by Valjean's vehemence. Awkwardly, he reached to touch Valjean's cheek. "Perhaps. These are not words that we have ever used with each other, but that does not mean they are not fitting."

"Perhaps," Valjean said, his pulse very loud in his ears. "Perhaps we never needed to use them." He grasped Javert's hand and pulled him from the chair into a fervent kiss.

When they eventually stopped for air, he felt Javert's lips curve against his own. His clothes had become sodden where Valjean's bath-wet body had pressed against his, and the damp wool of his trousers clung to the jutting, unmistakable outline of his interest. If Valjean had initially wondered whether Javert would welcome this interruption from work, he was no longer unsure. On his part, he had let the rag fall, and there was no means to hide his own arousal.

Javert sounded faintly amused, if rather breathless. "Had I known that discussion of matrimony would rouse you like this, I would have not waited for so long."

"I know you wished me to be a free man before you proposed it," Valjean said, entirely seriously. "You had no wish for my gratitude, nor a need for my forgiveness. But what you might not realise is that I will never be free of you."

"Nor I of you," Javert said, roughly, and captured his mouth again. 

Valjean choked back a groan at the sensation of Javert's prick, straining under his wet clothes against Valjean's unclothed one. "We should free you of these things, though," he murmured when he could speak again.

Between them, they managed to wrest Javert's damp garments from him. Javert's hair had come loose in their ardent struggles, and the unruly mass made him look carefree, as he had not been even as a young man.

When Valjean got his breath back, he said, "You wished to speak of matrimony?" and he caught Javert up in his damp arms.

Javert let Valjean lift him as if he were a blushing bride; he let out a huff that was part surprise and part levity. His eyes had gone dark with lust. 

Valjean set him down upon their bed. The last rays of the setting sun limned the long lines of his body, and turned the thick hair around his shoulders and upon his chest and arms and between his thighs to gold.

For an instant Valjean could say nothing. There was a constriction in his throat. As long as he lived, he would never be worthy of this gift: the enemy who had become his beloved friend, who had without words pledged to be by his side for the rest of this life.

Javert raised his eyebrows. "Come along, then," he said, briskly, and lifted his hips in invitation.

Valjean clambered onto the bed as well and settled between Javert’s thighs, as he had done scores of times. Despite their long familiarity, he felt unaccountably shy. Perhaps it was all this talk about matrimony; the thought about the vows they had made to each other when they had first embarked on this life together, and those they would make to each other when this pardon had been seen through.

He found himself taking his time with the oil, opening Javert with care, as if his companion was truly an innocent who had known no other lover before this night. 

Javert had schooled his features into lines of patience, but soon enough he could not stop himself from rolling his eyes. "Would you hurry? You'd leave me wanting, tonight of all nights? For the love of --" He broke off, choking, as Valjean seized hold of his thighs and slid himself home.

They had done this a great many times, in similar positions as well as different ones, with Javert face-down on the bed or on all fours, and with the positions reversed and Valjean the one being taken. Valjean did not know if it was because they had made their way to love late in life, but he had discovered he was disposed to finding everything they did by way of that love most enjoyable.

On this evening, as the sun was beginning to set, Valjean took possession of Javert as if for the first time, imagining it was the very first occasion that Javert was yielding to him, shuddering with ecstasy, that this was the first slow push of his prick inside Javert's passage, the first moment he was fully sheathing himself within Javert's body, skin against skin. 

Javert was certainly tight enough to make good that indulgent fantasy. He had clenched his fists in the sheets, perspiration standing out upon his brow, his member hard and dark with blood and fully erect against his belly.

"How is this?" Valjean whispered, putting his mouth close to Javert's flushed face.

Javert panted through his teeth. "More," he managed, his voice hoarse. Valjean complied, beginning to thrust carefully and then, as Javert made a strangled noise and reached to clutch at the hair upon his breast, very much less carefully.

There were no words for this luxurious gift in the last of the sunset, no words for the sheer abandon of their bodies to pleasure and to each other, self-control unravelling with the daylight, both of them groaning wordlessly against the other's lips as if they had forgotten how to speak.

Any words between them were those spoken in the slide of tongues and sweat-slick limbs, the shivering, wringing strokes and wanton thrusts, the caresses that spoke of possession and worship and unconditional surrender to each other -- promises made not with rings or worldly goods, but with their bodies, with their once guarded hearts.

 _I will,_ Valjean thought as Javert cried out and spent over his hand, as he too gave himself up to the fierce blaze of his release. 

"No more words?" he enquired, at last, when they subsided into the wreck of sheets to recover their breath.

Javert snorted. He rested his head against Valjean's arm, the tangle of his hair covering them both. 

Eventually, he murmured, "We never needed to say them, because we know they are true." 

Again, Valjean's throat constricted. They were men in the winter of their lives, come late to the conflagration of love, and it would not do for them to behave like newlyweds, even if that was what they were in truth.

And yet, who were they to turn away from the immense gift they had been given? 

Valjean placed his hand upon Javert's chest, above the implacable heart that had so improbably become his home. "Be mine, as I am yours. That is the only form of words we need."

"No more research? Very well, then," Javert agreed, and kissed him as if it were a solemn vow.

**Author's Note:**

> So glad my Remission betas Miss M and groucha agreed to be press-ganged into betaing for Remission once again!
> 
> The form of wedding vows referenced in this chapter are from the ceremony in the Middle Ages: _The priest says: "Dites après moi : N., de cet anneau le espouse, et de mes biens te doue, et de mon corps t'honore. In nomine Patris, super pollicem; secundo, super indicem : et Filii; tertio,super médium : et Spiritus sancti. Et relinquat anulum in medio"._ Per groucha: [from this source](http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k5469843x/f55.item.r=46).
> 
> Details of the 1421 French ceremony between Molyneux and Winter are as per a summary by Juvenal de Ursins from Nouvelles Collections des Memoires, Ed. Michaud and Poujoulat Series 1 Vol 2 1851 pp 456-464. Juvenal [describes](http://sourcebooks.fordham.edu/halsall/pwh/bray-medievalsamesex.asp) how the couple in question took communion and then before witnesses swore true love and brotherhood and made grand and solemn promises as were customary and by special conventions recognised in such a matter, which definitely sounds like a wedding ceremony to me...


End file.
